Heirs of Verdane
by Ceireavne
Summary: At the behest of King Batu, Verdane is caught up in an unforeseen conflict with Grannvale. Jamka and Ayra, both allying with Sigurd's army, find themselves drawn into an unexpected romance. Years later, Ulster can't help but dwell on Shanan's stories of his parents. Fates willing, he'll find the resolution that Jamka and Ayra couldn't.
1. Genoa

The first thing that Jamka noticed about her was the sword. Held in an overly ornate scabbard and slung on her hip, it was obviously a weapon of some value. And, of course, the way she wielded it was even more impressive than the weapon itself. She had long black hair, dark like night, but was slender, lacking a proper warrior's build. The myrmidon was clad in Isaachian clothes, light and easy to move around in. She had a haughty look about her, slightly abated by a pair of mysterious, dark brown eyes.

"Cimbaeth hired himself a pretty decent sword hand, looks like," the young prince mused.

She ignored him and continued practicing. Her deft strokes sliced through the air, each one a satisfying hiss.

Playing on the ground nearby with rocks and sticks was a young boy who looked very much like the swordswoman. While she wasn't old enough to be his mother, they could have easily been siblings. The boy glanced up from his game to the archer. "Auntie doesn't talk much," he explained.

The woman sheathed her blade, turning quickly to the boy. "Shanan," she snapped, "you know better than to talk to strangers."

The boy flinched from the severity in her voice. "I'm sorry," he mumbled sheepishly.

Jamka stifled a laugh, then turned to the warrior. "Don't mind me, ma'am. I'm Jamka, Verdane's youngest prince. Since you're working with Cimbaeth, there's a chance we'll be fighting alongside each other."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, before offering a rueful bow. "My apologies, milord."

The archer shook his head. "Don't worry about it. What brings you here to Verdane?" Jamka asked, glancing sidelong at the two of them. "You obviously aren't from around here."

She nodded pensively. "Refuge. Our country, Isaach, is plagued by war right now, and we came here to escape from the conflict."

Jamka frowned, not knowing what to say. He'd been aware of the scrimmage between Grannvale and Isaach, as well that Verdane was the only nation not allied with Grannvale. It made plenty of sense for the two to seek refuge here. However, he hadn't realized the situation in Isaach was so dire. The journey itself to Verdane was quite the trek, especially since it involved passing through Grannvalian territory.

The prince reciprocated her bow. "What may I call you, fair warrior?"

She straightened, as though stung by his words. "Ayra," she finally answered. "The boy is my nephew, Shanan."

"Ayra, Shanan, it is good meeting you. We don't have much in the way of swordsmen here, so I'm glad to have you on our side. But hopefully we won't be needing your blade any time soon."

She gave him a stilted bow in response. "Of course, milord."

"Nice meeting you, mister Jamka," the young boy chimed happily.

Jamka smiled to the two of them. "I must be heading back to Evans. It was good meeting the two of you. Stay well."

"Of course, milord," she replied shortly.

"Bye-bye," the boy said, waving.

With that, Jamka turned and left.

* * *

The Verdanian prince had been stationed in Evans castle when his father, King Batu, issued the order to siege Grannvale. Munnir and an army of axemen had already begun marching on Jungy, thirsty for battle. Jamka immediately began riding back to Verdane, that he might convince his father to cease fighting.

While resupplying in Genoa, he was flagged down by the myrmidon from before. "Prince Jamka," she began, "is something going on? I saw Munnir marching through with an army not three days ago."

Jamka couldn't help but grimace at her question. "Father issued orders to attack Grannvale. I'm riding back to Verdane to convince him of his folly," the archer explained. "Nothing good can come of war with them."

The cast of Ayra's concern deepened. "King Batu has been a peaceful ruler until now," she said, bewildered. "What could have changed him to be like this?"

The prince breathed a painful sigh. "I... I don't know. But I've heard rumor of a dubious priest in the royal court named Sandima. He must have bewitched father somehow."

"Prince Jamka," she said, frowning, "I am sorry."

He shook his head quietly. "Don't be, Ayra. You've enough to worry you already."

The swordswoman was taken aback, unsure what to say. Shanan, playing nearby, glanced curiously between the two adults.

"In fact," Jamka continued, "I should be the one apologizing. The time may be coming when you do need to draw your sword, and it's not even for your own country. It simply isn't right."

Ayra scowled at that. "Lord Jamka, I do appreciate the sanctuary we've found in Verdane. But work as a mercenary is the only living I've managed for us here. For Shanan, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Of course," he replied. "Just don't get yourself killed, okay?"

Before a very impatient Ayra could reply, Shanan cut in. "Don't worry," he said confidently, "if those Grannvalians come to Verdane, aunt Ayra and I will beat 'em up for you."

Jamka turned to the young boy, smiling despite the situation. "Good. You take care of Ayra, alright?"

Shanan grinned from ear to ear. "If I had dad's sword with me, I could cut 'em all up into pieces," the boy crowed, throwing a fist into the air.

The archer blinked at the boy, surprised. Glancing across to Ayra, he saw brief panic flash across her face. There was definitely more to the pair than they were letting on, but Jamka didn't have time for it right now.

He graced them with another smile. "Ayra, Shanan, if you'll excuse me. I must be on my way to Verdane."

Ayra bowed once more. "Fortune keep you, Lord Jamka," she said solemnly.

Shanan bowed as well, mimicking his aunt. "Goodbye, mister Jamka."

The Verdanian prince nodded, taking his leave.


	2. Spirit Forest

King Batu's heart had been stony and closed, wholly unreceptive to Jamka's words. And now, the prince found himself ready to die for the sake of Verdane, about to engage the Grannvalian army in Spirit Forest.

A figure caught his eye through the trees, and it struck his heart like a thorn. It was the priestess from before, the girl for whose sake this conflict began. Jamka's rotten brother Munnir had abducted Jungby's princess and brought her to Marpha, intent on marrying her. By now, both of his brothers were having a dirt nap, but they had been dead to Jamka ever since falling victim to Sandima's poisonous words.

The archer stayed his arrow as the lovely girl approached. "Edain?" he called out to her, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you and the kid to run." A green-haired archer knight escorted her, with knocked arrow trained on the prince.

"Prince Jamka," Edain replied, nearing him. "I couldn't just go back to Grannvale, not while I can help Lord Sigurd."

Her words cut his heart, and Jamka's face darkened. "The Lord Sigurd has rescued you. Why does he continue to march on Verdane?"

Tears welled in the priestess' eyes. "He sees no other way to pacify the king," Edain explained. Seeing the anguish in her face, Jamka knew she spoke the truth. She cast a questing glance to the prince, longing for an answer. "But Jamka, didn't you say you would speak with him? How come you're fighting?"

The archer grimaced at her words. "Father refuses to see reason," he spat bitterly. "And I cannot simply stand by as Verdane burns. Now Sigurd marches on Verdane in the name of peace, a wolf in sheep's clothes." He took a step back, feeling betrayed. "Edain, why..."

"Milord, Sigurd doesn't come as a conqueror. He only wants to negotiate peace with King Batu," she pled desperately. "Prince Jamka, let's go back to Verdane together. We can convince your father to cease hostilities, I know it."

Jamka frowned bitterly, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. Joining Sigurd would mean turning on his own countrymen, men who were simply defending their land from these would-be invaders. "Fine," he managed through gritted teeth. "But if anyone lays a finger on my father, I'll have their head."

The archer knight stayed his weapon, nodding appreciatively. "I'll go report to Lord Sigurd, milady."

Edain smiled to him. "Thank you, Midir." With that, the knight rounded his mount and began heading back.

The Verdanian prince turned on his heel and called out to the approaching axemen. "Warriors of Verdane, Lord Sigurd's forces seek a ceasefire. Lay down your weapons and make way for us."

Most of the barbarians were well aware of Verdane's ill odds, and didn't require much convincing to surrender. The archer fell in with Sigurd's advancing army, sorting his thoughts and racking his brain for the words that might finally sway the king.

Grannvale's forces continued pressing north through Spirit Forest, and Jamka almost bit his tongue as a familiar voice called to him from behind.

"Mister Jamka!" It was the boy from Genoa, Shanan. He was sat atop a horse led by Ayra. The myrmidon's face flickered concern before settling on familiar disdain.

The corners of his mouth quirked into a smile as he saw the two of them. "Shanan, Ayra, it's been a while," the archer called back, waving.

Ayra simply gave him an exasperated look.

"Are you alright?" Jamka asked, falling into step with them.

The swordswoman pursed her lips. "You're lucky you're nothing like Cimbaeth," she said quietly.

He heaved a reluctant sigh. "My brothers are already gone, aren't they? Tell me what he did."

A sympathetic look crossed her face as she searched her thoughts for the right words.

"Aunt Ayra didn't want to fight," Shanan offered helpfully. "So Cimbaeth put me in the dungeon and made her do it anyway."

The Verdanian prince gritted his teeth. "I suppose neither of them could be bothered to die with dignity. I'm... I'm so sorry," he said, shaking his head ruefully.

Ayra continued walking in reticence, staring forward.

"It'll be okay," Shanan assured him. "Sigurd said he'll keep us safe with him."

The archer turned to the boy, blinking in surprise. "But he's Grannvalian. Doesn't that make you enemies?"

Ayra turned a haughty glare to the prince. "We don't need anything to do with that stupid war," she snapped. "Even so, Sigurd isn't a warmonger. I'll... I'll fight alongside him as long as it means I can continue to keep Shanan safe."

"Of course," Jamka agreed wearily. "I'm beginning to think this war means trouble for all of Jugdral. I don't know if father really can be persuaded, but I'll do my damnedest."

The swordswoman turned to him, the corners of her eyes creased with concern.

"Anyway, I'm glad we're both on the same side," Shanan chimed in. "I like you, mister Jamka. Aunt Ayra does, too."

"Shanan!" she barked, glaring daggers at him.

Jamka couldn't help but laugh. "You know, I'm glad I don't have to fight you guys, either. God knows I'd be joining my brothers right about now."

Ayra turned her face to the prince, and this time it was a pretty frown. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. And despite her laconic mien, he knew exactly what she meant.

The Verdanian prince nodded somberly. "I'm sorry, too."


	3. Verdane

The prince rushed into Verdane's throne room. Seeing his wounded father lying in a pool of blood, Jamka was struck dumb. Falling to his knees, he took the old king in his arms. "Father, I'm sorry. I was too late," the prince breathed, despair gripping his heart.

"Jamka, I've caused you so much pain," Batu said weakly. "I'm sorry, Jamka..."

Grief stung his eyes, and soon the archer was crying. "Father..." he managed, "I know about Sandima. Your whole life, you've been a wise and peaceful king. This... this wasn't you. You were under that maniac's evil spell."

The old king gave his son a wan smile. "And yet I'll be remembered as a fool. I've done injustice to our citizens, Jamka." Batu's breath was labored and sanguinary, with blood pooling at the corners of his mouth. "Forgive me... son. I leave Verdane to you." The king's breath rattled once more in his chest before death took him.

The prince managed a bitter sigh. "Farewell, father," he said softly. With grief and pain weighing him down, Jamka couldn't bring himself to move. The painful moment seemed as though it would never let go, stretching itself into dark eternity.

A voice finally brought him back to reality. "Jamka, I'm sorry." It was Sigurd, standing in the throne room's entrance.

Blinking tears from his eyes, the archer glanced up at the warlord.

"I can't stay here," Jamka said, feeling numb. "I can't take care of Verdane yet. The bastards who did this to my family, I'll cut them down."

Sigurd nodded grimly. "I wish you didn't have to fight. I wish none of us had to."

Reverently placing down his father, Jamka rose to his feet. He turned to the warlord, filled with determination. "Sigurd, my bow is yours, if you'll have me."

"Of course, Prince Jamka," the lord said quietly. "We'll put an end to this war together."

* * *

The Verdanian prince prepared some extra horses for their journey, both for celerity's sake, and to help carry supplies. Jamka couldn't bring himself to fill his father's throne, not until the old man had been avenged. He knew that Verdane needed him, but they could manage on their own—at least for a time.

He heard someone approaching as he was fitting a breast collar onto one of the horses.

"Jamka," a voice said softly.

It was strange hearing such tenderness in that voice. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes before glancing behind him. Ayra stood primly, but pain was etched plainly onto her face.

"Your highness," the archer said, unable to muster any mirth in his voice.

Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "Oh, hush," she said, but there was no edge to her words. "Are you doing alright, Jamka?"

The prince shrugged his shoulders, heaving a deep sigh. "I don't know," he said dumbly.

Ayra nodded understandingly. "Shanan and I," she began, "I don't know, either. My father and brother, they were both taken by this war, too."

And it became painful for Jamka to look at the Isaachian warrior. The strength with which she'd always carried herself was suddenly a brittle front, unable to hide her weakness and pain. Left in its place was a vulnerable girl, caught up in the maelstrom of a terrible war.

Jamka broke from her gaze, ashamed. The fact that his own kin had caused her and Edain so much grief, it smoldered in his stomach like brimstone. "I'm sorry, Ayra."

She laughed quietly at that. It was a sad laugh, but pretty nonetheless. "Jamka, we're a lot alike."

The Verdanian prince nodded faintly, unable to muster any words.

"Next time we fight," Ayra began, "let's fight together."

He cast a dazed glance at the Isaachian princess. "What?"

Ayra gave him a reassuring smile, and he hadn't realized til then how lovely a smile it was. "That way, when this is all over," she explained, "you can come back here to Verdane, and I can go back to Isaach with Shanan. We'll make it through this war, so that we can heal our countries' wounds."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. "You're right," Jamka said, nodding. "Yeah, let's do that. You want to help me finish packing up these horses?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Sure thing," she agreed, gracing him with another smile.

Jamka felt his cheeks reddening at the pretty sight, and his stomach did a twirl. He quickly turned back to the horses he had been packing and made himself busy. _It must be my imagination_ , he thought.


	4. Dominion of the Lords

With Agusty finally captured, the disturbance in Agustria was finally done, at least for the time being.

"How're you holding up?" The prince called out, wiping sweat from his brow.

The myrmidon was knelt on the ground, intently cleaning her blade.

"That bad?" he asked.

Ayra frowned at him, sheathing her sword. "Of all people, you should understand," she said simply. "It's just like with Verdane."

"Right." Jamka couldn't keep bitterness from tingeing his voice. "Is it really peacekeeping when meted out at swordpoint?"

The Isaachian princess shook her head quietly. "I don't know."

Silence gripped the two warriors as they organized their thoughts.

Ayra was the one to finally break their quiet. "Even if there isn't a right in this war," she said, carefully measuring her words, "Sigurd is searching for it."

It was hard to swallow, but she wasn't wrong. Jamka had set out to avenge his father, but none of the people they'd been fighting were of the Loptyrian cult. Instead, Sigurd's army kept finding itself at odds with normal people—people being manipulated, just like his own father had been. Of _course_ he'd had second thoughts about his own involvement. Like she'd said, it was the exact same as Verdane.

"So what?" the archer thought aloud. "Should we just leave? The way this war has been spreading, I don't think any part of Jugdral will be left untouched for long."

The Isaachian princess turned her gaze to his, and it was like steel. "Jamka," she said softly, "I can't do that. Not after all Sigurd has done for me and Prince Shanan."

He chuckled bitterly, not knowing how else to respond. "Is it even worth it? I can't tell anymore."

Ayra took several steps closer to the prince. She granted him one of her rare smiles. "You know, he's not the only one."

Jamka glanced sidelong at her. "Come again?"

Her nose wrinkled in amusement. "Without Verdane, Shanan and I wouldn't have made it this far."

 _But at what cost,_ the prince thought grimly. He turned from her, casting his vacant gaze to the rolling Agustrian hills.

The princess' expression softened as she saw the pain on his face. "Jamka," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

He forced a brittle smile. "No, you're right. No use lamenting the past, is there? All that's left is now."

There was another moment of silence before she finally found the words to say. "Jamka," she began, "thank you."

The prince closed his eyes, feeling his patience wane. "For what?"

"Ehehe..." he could hear the mirth in her voice. "Shanan and I... you've been our first friend since we left Isaach."

Jamka managed to pry open his eyes, and looked to his companion. There was a smile on her lips, and her cheeks were dyed a faint red.

The archer closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Counting back from ten, he quelled the fluttering of his stomach. "It's nothing. I did what any decent person would do, is all."

Ayra let go of his arm. "Jamka—" she began.

"Really," he insisted, hoping at least one of them would believe.

An exasperated sigh passed her lips. "Well, then."

Jamka took a few seconds to regather himself, and finally opened his eyes. She stood there expectantly, hand on her hip.

"I know, I know," he said with a crooked grin. "I'm really glad that we met, too."

The Isaachian princess' face brightened with another smile, and Jamka thought for an instant or two that he wasn't imagining things.

"Come on," he continued. "Let's go help everyone clean up. I'll bet Shanan is looking for you, too."

* * *

Sigurd took an administrative role in Agusty, hoping to cede Agustrian lands before a year might pass. His anxious warriors managed to keep busy with Agusty's reconstruction, and time passed quickly. In that span, Sigurd and his wife Deirdre had themselves a son. They weren't the only burgeoning romance, either. Midir and Edain had been wed, and Lex seemed to have taken to courting the Isaachian princess.

Barely six months had passed when Agustria's King Chagall ordered his remaining forces to march on Agusty. Sigurd shared the grim news with his companions that evening, and told them to be ready to sortie the next morning.

Jamka retired to his room in silence. Shutting the door behind him, he took a seat at his desk. _Father, what would you do? How did you manage to keep peace as long as you did?_

The prince was ousted from his introspective moment by a rapping on his door. Heaving a weary sigh, he took to his feet and went to answer it.

To his surprise, it was Ayra. She was wearing agustrian garb: an ornate blouse and skirt, and her black hair was tied back in an elegant ponytail. The myrmidon's eyes were creased in a faint smile. "Got a minute?"

The archer bit his tongue, desperate not to say anything stupid. "Of course. Is something the matter?"

"Ehehe," she tittered softly. "You don't mind if I come in, do you?"

Jamka shook his head. "No, of course not." He gestured to one of the chairs in his quarters. She gratefully accepted, and the prince closed the door behind them. He went back to the chair at his desk, turning to face her in it. "So, what's the problem?"

"It's happening again," she said quietly, glancing to the floor of his room. It was the same person he'd met those months ago in Verdane, the sensitive girl who'd been swept up in the wake of so much pain and tragedy.

The sight pulled his heartstrings, but Jamka forced himself to stay cool. "Yeah. If only stupid Chagall would have just waited," he said sourly.

Ayra nodded, light glinting from her pearlescent earrings. "Yeah," she agreed somberly. "It's stupid."

The prince didn't know what to make of the current matter, so he changed the subject. "How's Shanan been doing?"

She looked back up at him, her lips creasing into a faint smile. "He's been well. Azelle has been tutoring him in the evenings, and Holyn's been teaching him swordplay."

"That's good," Jamka replied. "But hopefully he won't need to fight any time soon."

"Yes," the princess agreed quietly. "Hopefully."

"Has Lex been good, too? You've been spending a lot of time with him, right?"

Ayra's face blanched, and her eyes began glinting with excess moisture. She took a moment to compose herself before she could speak. "You and I, we're so very alike." Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

The Verdanian prince furrowed his brow, unsure what she was getting at.

Her face shifted between amusement and concern, eventually settling into a slight moue.

Jamka waited expectantly for her to say something. "Yes?"

"Oh, hush," she said, narrowing her dark brown eyes on him. "I'm being serious here."

The prince couldn't help but grin. "Well, come on. Out with it," he teased.

She gave an exasperated sigh. "It's just," she said, glancing balefully at him, "sometimes you know exactly what I'm thinking. How do you do it?"

The archer chuckled to himself. "You're just imagining things."

Another sigh passed her lips, and Ayra turned serious. "Lex has been seeking my attention lately, you're right," she explained. "In fact, maybe a week back he wanted to give me something."

"Oh," was all Jamka could manage.

"It was a brave blade," she said, meeting his gaze.

"So?" he forced himself to feign polite interest. "How is it?"

"I didn't accept it," the myrmidon said bluntly.

Jamka quirked his head, looking sidelong at her.

The princess' cheeks began turning red. "I couldn't," she barely managed. "I-I couldn't accept it."

"Ayra, it's getting late," the archer urged, feeling his stomach roil with panic.

"I couldn't accept his feelings," she explained, sounding meek. "Not as long as my heart belongs to someone else."

"We sortie tomorrow," Jamka insisted. "We both need our rest."

"I'm sorry, Jamka," Ayra managed, her eyes welling with tears. "I-I'm sorry that I can't be Edain."

"Ayra, don't—" he began.

But there was no abating her tears. Her breath turned ragged, and soon Ayra was outright bawling.

Jamka stood and quickly went to the upset girl. Gently taking her hand, he pulled Ayra to her feet and gripped her in a tight hug. She leaned against him, crying onto his shoulder. The prince pressed his head against her raven hair, not knowing what to tell her.

They stayed like that until she'd calmed down. "I'm sorry," she finally eked.

"No," the prince told her. "Don't be sorry. Edain meant something to me, but I never loved her."

Ayra continued pressing close, but remained quiet.

"I'll stop pretending, Ayra." He could hardly find his voice. "I hate what Munnir and Cimbaeth did—to you, to Grannvale, and to Verdane. I wish I could take it all back, that I could do better for you. I wish I could be even a little bit more the man that you deserve."

The myrmidon sniffled softly, clinging tighter to him. "I don't care who you think I deserve, dummy. But I don't want anyone else. I want you, Jamka."

It was all he could do to let out a long, cathartic sigh. "Ayra..."

He parted from her just enough to take her hand in his. She lifted her tear-streaked gaze, smiling as best she could. Jamka felt his heart ache for the pretty girl, and this time he didn't try to stop it. "You remember our promise?" she asked him.

"Of course," he agreed. "What about it?"

Although she couldn't manage a laugh, Ayra's nose wrinkled in amusement. "I'm not going back to Isaach. Once this is all over, I want to go back to Verdane with you."

Jamka laughed out loud, completely taken by surprise. He squeezed her hand fondly. "We'll rebuild it together, then. The Verdane that father strove so hard to build," he told her, beaming. "No, even better than that."

The princess' face brightened, and Jamka knew he could bask in her radiance for the rest of his life. And then her face softened, and she slowly closed her eyes. The archer pulled her close, embracing her with adoring kiss.

As he finally quit her lips, Ayra opened her teary eyes. She gave him one more smile, and he knew he was finally done pretending.

"Ayra," he told her, "I love you."


	5. Isaach

Seliph's small company had taken to making use of an abandoned shop in Tirnanog. It wasn't outstanding, but they'd needed a space separate from the abbey where they could train and talk strategy. It happened to fit the bill, which was as much as they could ask for.

Shanan stretched lazily, reaching his arms back above his chair. "If you need anything else before I head to Phinora, now's your chance."

Ulster peered at his cousin briefly, then returned to his reading.

He heard Larcei pause in her practice, before approaching the Isaachian prince. "Cousin, do you mind telling me a bit more about Ayra?"

The swordsman rarely laughed, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Again, Larcei? What else is there to tell?"

She scowled at him. "Fine, then. Off with you to Phinora. Just don't get yourself killed, Shanan. Isaach needs you, remember?"

His face grew reminiscent and his gaze far-off. "She was a lot like you, Larcei. A fierce warrior, quite beautiful, too. Sometimes I think she wished she'd been born a man." He paused, taking a deep breath before he continued. "Yes, I remember... she and Prince Jamka met in Genoa. He once called her a fair warrior. I thought she was going to kill him right there. Luckily, she didn't. But really, she didn't know how to be a woman. I suppose no one ever taught her. Besides, she spent so much time providing for me in father's place."

"She eventually figured it out, though. Otherwise Ulster and I wouldn't be here," Larcei pointed out.

"Right," Shanan agreed. "She and Jamka had liked each other for a while. They both had to come to terms with it, though. To be honest, it was somewhat difficult to watch at times. But like you said, they managed to figure it out."

Larcei nodded quietly, absorbing her cousin's words.

"She and Jamka really were similar," he mused quietly. "Families taken by the war, and neither of them really wanted to fight. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we'd come back to Isaach as a family. If the Belhalla Massacre had never happened."

His cousin sighed painfully. "Sorry, Shanan. It was selfish of me to ask again..."

The prince shook his head. "Don't worry about it, cousin. Compared to what we've been through since then, those were halcyon days. And dwelling on the past doesn't accomplish much, but without what happened I might not be here with all of you."

Ulster, who had been rereading the same sentence for a while, finally closed his book. Although he wouldn't admit it, he cared as much for Shanan's stories of Ayra as Larcei did. He definitely had his doubts about whether he and Larcei would ever find their parents, yet he couldn't help but sympathize with them. While Ayra and Jamka hadn't grown up as orphans, they had lived in the same bitterly fractured world. Seliph always spoke about how one day they'd be able to fix Jugdral, and begin to make it whole again. Honestly, Ulster didn't know what to make of it. That was a very big if, after all. The liberation of an entire continent from the vast Grannvalian empire—it was the stuff of legends.

"Ulster," Shanan said, peering at his cousin. "You care to spar a bit before I head out?"

He shook his head in response. "No, I'm good. You sure you'll be fine traveling by yourself, though? I could go with you."

The swordsman frowned. "I'll be fine, believe me. One person won't attract attention, especially if I stay out of trouble. You might be surprised at how well I can avoid suspicion."

Ulster shrugged helplessly. "Just make sure to come back, Shanan. We need you. Isaach, too."

"Of course," Shanan said, taking to his feet. He glanced between his two cousins. "Make sure to keep Prince Seliph out of danger for me, alright? At least until I get back." After gathering up his supplies, he left.

"You really think he'll be okay?" Larcei asked, turning to her brother.

He bit his lip, thinking for a brief moment. "Shanan's been around the block a few times more than we have. Really, I think he's right. Once he's back to us with Balmung in hand, we'll be able to finally liberate Isaach. I don't know what other option we have."

Larcei's face turned sour at his words. "I just feel stupid sitting here doing nothing. There must be something else we can help with."

Ulster shook his head. "If lolling around and training all day in Tirnanog keeps Seliph safe, then I guess that's what we do."

"Dammit," his sister spat bitterly. "I'm going for a walk," she said, leaving.

The lone myrmidon reopened his book and continued where he'd left off.

* * *

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. The empire had located the rebel army, but against all odds Seliph and his crew had managed to liberate Isaach and bring down Dannan. Their next move was to march on Alster, backing up Lenster's Prince Leif. First, however, they had a few critical days to rest and regather themselves.

Ulster was relaxing in one of Rivough castle's studies, enjoying the serenity in the wake of the their taxing campaign. A knocking from the doorway caused the myrmidon to look up from his book. It was Johan, one of Dannan's sons.

"Do you have a minute?" the axe knight asked hopefully.

The swordsman closed his book and put it aside. "Sure. Is there something wrong?"

Johan crossed the room, seating himself in a chair facing the other warrior. "Ulster, I'd like permission to marry your sister."

Ulster blinked owlishly at that, unsure whether the knight was joking. "You realize if she knew you asked me that, she'd kill us both."

The knight's brow furrowed in dismay. "But of course. If your father was still alive, I would be asking him."

Ulster quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, she'd kill you for that, too."

Johan heaved an awkward sigh. "Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"That's easy," the myrmidon explained. "She's her own woman. Talk to _her_ about it."

He frowned in response. "Every time I put word to my feelings, she responds with naught but scorn."

"Uh..." Ulster didn't know where to begin. "She's not really the lovey-dovey type. Maybe try telling her how you feel without the flowery language."

One of Shanan's stories bubbled to the surface of Ulster's memory. House Dozel's Lex had at one point courted Ayra, though nothing had come of it.

"Maybe offer her a gift?" Ulster suggested helpfully.

The axe knight's face brightened immediately. "Ah, but what gift can properly show her the depths of my adoration? Would that I could give her the very stars in the sky, or the virgin snow from Isaach's mountains."

Ulster was beginning to feel awkward with his guest, but managed to voice his thoughts. "What you said earlier, Johan?"

"Yes?"

"I obviously wouldn't be giving you any advice if I didn't think you weren't," the myrmidon paused briefly, searching for the right word, "an okay guy. But if we make it through all this... please, make up for what House Dozel has done."

Johan's face grew stern. "Of course, dear brother. Every night, I'm grieved by the atrocities committed by my own kin—atrocities committed against the very woman I love, upon her friends. I cannot rest until they've been made right."

The myrmidon felt his eyes widen reflexively. "Johan, we're not brothers yet, okay? And I'm pretty sure Larcei would have gutted you for that whole spiel, too."

"Would that a suppliant were not reviled for merely lending shape to his heart's address," the knight grieved. "It scathes me so, my friend, to be misunderstood by Larcei, the radiant star of my heart's delight."

Ulster tried not to make a grotesque face. "You know, I've heard a bit about your uncle from Prince Shanan," he said, changing the subject.

"Oh?"

The myrmidon nodded. "I imagine you're a lot like him. Except for the speech thing. But I remember Shanan saying he was a bit of a romantic in his time."

Johan's face grew dour. "Ah, but my uncle Lex perished alone. Would that I succeed where he failed, should the fates allow."

Ulster shrugged helplessly. "Anyway, it was good talking to you, Johan. Was there anything else you needed?"

The axe knight beamed in response. "Not a single thing, my friend. You truly have been an inspiration to me. With renewed vigor shall I seek the lovely Larcei's affections, becoming a knight who may one day truly deserve her."

"Well," the myrmidon managed, "good luck with that."

Taking to his feet, the axe knight offered a graceful bow before excusing himself.

Ulster wasn't sure what Seliph's policy on infighting was, but they might be finding out soon. The warrior took a weary breath and returned to his book.


	6. Peninsula

After Leif's and Seliph's forces met, they successfully forced Bloom out of Alster. The tyrant and his remaining forces had fled to Conote, like a coward dog with its tail between its legs. Like before, Seliph had allowed his forces a few precious days to unwind before their grueling campaign might continue.

Lester was the one to petition Ulster, this time. "Hey, have you seen Lana?"

The myrmidon placed his book down and looked up, seeing the archer standing in the study's entrance. "No, not recently."

The knight frowned, his eyes creased with concern. "I haven't seen her at meals the past couple days. Mind helping me look for her? I just want to make sure she's okay."

Ulster bit his lip pensively. It was true, she'd made herself scarce. The myrmidon hadn't thought anything of it, since he usually kept to himself. "Sure thing, Lester."

The two warriors split up and began scouring Alster castle for the young priestess.

After a rather thorough search, Ulster had a hunch on where he might find her. Saddling a horse, he rode out to the church southwest of Lenster. There was another horse outside the chapel, grazing peacefully. Probably another one of Alster's horses. _Looks like my hunch was right,_ he thought.

The warrior approached the old building. It was not quite dilapidated, but it wasn't really maintained, either. He pressed open one of the broad front doors and stepped into the shadowy chapel.

"Hey, Lester's been looking for you." The myrmidon breathed a sigh of relief, glad he'd finally found her. The priestess was sat quietly in one of the church's pews. She was simply gazing up at the light filtering through the chapel's stained glass windows, paying him no heed.

"Lana," he insisted, walking over to her. "You doing okay?"

She finally turned to him, and he could see her eyes glinting with tears. "Go away," she said quietly.

Ulster shook his head briskly. "Not a chance. Not til I know you're alright."

"I'm fine."

The myrmidon snickered softly, sitting down a short distance from her. "Both of us know that's not true. Come on," he insisted, "what's wrong?"

She remained reticent, and Ulster watched as a tear trickled down her fair cheek.

"It's Seliph, isn't it?" he guessed. Lana'd had a crush on the imperial prince for a long time now, but he'd taken quite strongly to Lewyn's silver-haired ward.

Lana breathed a painful sigh which might have been part sob. She glanced sullenly at the ground between her feet, her face stormy and bitter. "Go away," she repeated.

"I'll make you a deal," Ulster reasoned with her. "You don't seem to want to talk to me right now. But let's head back to Alster. I won't even force you to talk on the way, if you don't want. We'll get you something to eat, make sure Lester knows you're alright. Then I'll leave you alone."

Another painful breath passed the priestess' lips. "It's just not fair." Her voice was barely audible.

Ulster frowned, feeling a faint pang touch his heart. "No, it's not. Honestly, I don't know anything more about this than the rest of you guys. So I can't really offer you any romantic advice. Sorry."

She shook her head, and her pretty copper hair glistened in the chapel's ambient light. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

The myrmidon watched her for a few moments before he finally continued. "I really will sit here and nag you if you don't come back to Alster, you know. Besides, it's not like moping is going to accomplish anything, right?"

Lana straightened, wiping the tears from her eyes. "No, probably not," she agreed glumly. The priestess stood and began making her way from the church. Ulster followed several paces behind. Their horses were grazing patiently where they'd been left. The two mounted and began riding back to Alster in silence.

* * *

Seliph and his liberation army kept scraping through by the skin of their teeth, stealing heroic victory from the jaws of defeat. Individually, they were more or less doing fine. Johan had, bizarrely enough, somehow found his flowery affections reciprocated by Larcei—although not in nearly so many words. Other than that, Ulster hadn't made it his business to butt into his comrades' personal matters. Like before, they were left to their own devices. After they were rested and refueled, the liberation army would march on Miletos.

Lester sought him out again. "Hey, Ulster? Have you seen my sister around?"

The myrmidon found himself going through the familiar motions, putting his book aside and glancing up to his visitor. "No. You need help finding her again?"

The archer knight shrugged in response. "Yeah, a bit. I'm worried," he said with a frown.

Ulster nodded and joined Lester in his search.

After a while, he finally found it. While Travant and his countrymen had been quite warlike, they weren't entirely barbaric. There was a modest shrine atop one of the crags outside the castle grounds. It wasn't much—a roof held up by four pillars, with a simple altar placed in the middle. However, the shrine did offer a pretty view of the Thracian landscape. The priestess was leaning against one of the pillars, watching the scenery in bitter silence.

Ulster dismounted and walked over to the shrine. "Hello again," he said, lending his voice as much pep as he could muster. "Lester was worried about you. Again."

She shook her head indifferently. "I don't care."

"How do you find these places, anyway? This one is especially beautiful," the myrmidon said appreciatively.

Lana simply ignored him, turning her gaze to the bleak hills below.

"So," Ulster said, approaching her, "what is it this time?"

"Go away," she said bitterly.

He sighed wearily, feeling for her. "Seliph again, I guess."

"Shut up," Lana spat, cutting him off.

Ulster shrugged, and turned to take in the view in silence.

The two were quiet for a while, before Lana finally spoke. "I—it's just not fair."

The myrmidon glanced over to her, frowning. Tears marred the girl's pretty face, and her eyes were red. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just watched patiently.

"Seliph and... Julia" she spat the second name. "It's official... they're an item now," she finally managed.

Again, Ulster found himself lost for words. The myrmidon felt another pang girding his heart, and he wished there was something he could do for his friend.

"I—I don't stand a chance," she said bitterly. "She's mysterious, she's good in a fight. She's—she's even prettier than me," the priestess fumed. "Seliph can't help but dote on her. Not after he made that promise to Lewyn..."

Ulster found himself laughing quietly. "You think Julia would look pretty right now if she was the one at grief's doorstep?"

"Shut up," Lana snarled, glaring at him. "And I bet Seliph _would_ think she was pretty while crying. They're infuriating. I hate it."

Another long silence engulfed the two of them. This time, it was the swordsman who ended it. "You remember back when we were kids in Tirnanog? Seliph and you were inseperable," Ulster mused.

Lana's breath hitched in her throat, finding its way out as a sob.

"Sorry," Ulster said, feeling stupid. "I just... I don't know what happened."

The priestess shrugged, turning her gaze to the sun setting behind the distant Thracian mountains. The evening light glinted off her expressive brown eyes, like two polished zircons.

"Shanan and Oifey were always there to look out for us," Ulster said quietly, "but you were a big deal, too. When Edain wasn't there for us, you were the one to fix up our scrapes and bruises."

Lana shook her head in dismissal. "It doesn't matter," she said hopelessly.

"So?" he asked, looking her in the face. "One unrequited love, and that's it? Your life's over now?"

"Shut up," she said with another venomous glare. "You wouldn't understand."

Ulster sighed, at his wits' end. "No, I probably wouldn't." He turned around, seeing their horses foraging on needle grass. "Lana, I'm going to head back to Thracia."

"Good. Why don't you perish there, while you're at it."

"You planning on staying out here for a while, then?"

She met his query with sullen silence.

"I'll let Lester know," he said ruefully. After another brief moment, the myrmidon turned back to the upset girl. "One more thing, before I forget."

The impatient priestess glared at him once more. "What is it?"

"Lana," he said, feeling his cheeks flush, "I think you're plenty pretty. Even when you're upset."

Her face became a cute moue, and her eyes darkened. "Go make fun of someone else," she said bitterly, fixing her gaze back on the shrine's scenery.

"Lana, I'm not—"

"Go away," she cut him off. "I really mean it this time, Ulster."

He sighed, feeling defeated. There wasn't anything else for him to say, so the myrmidon simply turned and left.


	7. Brass and Vinegar

Come evening, the myrmidon found his reading interupted for the second time that day.

"I'm sorry."

Glancing to the study's entrance, Ulster was surprised to see Lana. Just like when he'd seen her earlier, she was visibly upset. However, her face was also tinged with regret.

He put his book aside and stood, stretching life back into his limbs. Taking a few paces across the room, the myrmidon offered her a conciliatory smile. "Don't worry about it."

Lana glanced at the floor, ashamed. "No," she said quietly. "I can't just forget. You were only trying to help, but I was awful to you. I'm sorry, Ulster."

Ulster lifted his hand, patting her on the head. "Water under the bridge," he assured her.

"Shut up," she said, pushing away his arm. However, there was no venom in her words. "I was a jerk and I feel bad about it, okay? Even if that doesn't bother you, it bothers _me_."

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well then..."

The girl frowned prettily. "Of course I remember back when we were kids. I couldn't forget it, even if I wanted to. One of the things I hated about life in Isaach was what it did to mother."

"Right." Ulster nodded, listening attentively.

"She was... mother was a princess once. A princess of Jungby. She hardly talked about it, but when she did," Lana paused, wiping a tear from eye, "I loved those stories. I guess I wanted to be a princess, too. And Seliph, he was always willing to pretend that I was. That's why I always liked him so much."

"So be a princess," the myrmidon said simply.

Lana glared at him in response. "Even though Lester and I have Ulir blood, it's not the same. Faval and Patty will inherit House Jungby," she explained. "Plus, it doesn't matter. It was just a stupid, childish dream of a stupid, childish kid."

"If it's so stupid and childish, then why get so worked up over it?"

" _No_ ," she cut him off, " _I'm_ not finished. You want to console me, then sit your butt down and listen."

Ulster was struck dumb, but obediently pulled up seats for the two of them.

"I know it's not worth it," she continued. "And even if it was, we're in the middle of a war. If dreams like that _did_ come true—which let's be honest, they _don't_ —it's stupid to be fretting about it now. But I don't care. A girl's heart is a fickle thing, and I refuse to apologize for a dream I had once, regardless how dumb it is."

"Lana, I didn't mean—"

He was interupted by another look from her fiery zircon eyes. "And here comes my childhood friend, who's always been like a brother to me, who's never even entertained the thought that I'm a girl—" The priestess sighed, shaking her head quietly. "It's just not fair."

"Edain's stories," Ulster said pointedly, "did they ever make you happy?"

Lana gave him a befuddled glance. "What?"

Ulster furrowed his brow, feeling more and more frustrated. "Did it make you happy? When your mother told you those stories, stories about Jungby, or about lovers past? Did you ever hate to ask? To make Edain remember?"

The girl's face blanched, and tears began welling in her eyes.

"We all had to deal with that," he continued. "I get it. But I also saw how much it wounded you. There was—there was no right answer, Lana. Seliph played along with your little game, but I just wanted you to be a regular kid. I wanted you to be able to forget, for you to be happy with the rest of us."

The intensity drained from Lana's face, as though she'd become a deer frozen with panic.

"You think it was easy for me?" Ulster managed, trying not to sound dour. "Growing up with a pretty girl like you, knowing I had no chance? Never being able to measure up to Seliph, always being his—" The myrmidon racked his brain, but found himself hopelessly tongue-tied. "H-his second banana?!"

She cast her gaze to the floor, her face filling with regret. "Ulster..."

"Well, you're not the only one feeling jealous. I—" He shook his head bitterly. "I'll never be Seliph. I can't. And I can't assuage your pain like him, Lana. I can't fix this problem for you, and I hate that. I'm just—I'm just me."

Lana lifted her teary gaze, and their eyes met. She gently placed her hand on his, gracing him with a bittersweet smile.

The myrmidon felt his heart ache for the pretty girl, seeing her like that. The brass and vinegar were gone, leaving his childhood friend hurt and exposed.

He stood, and taking her hand, pulled her into his arms. "Lana, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She eventually quit his embrace, ending the tender moment. "Ulster," she told him matter-of-factly, "that was the most obtuse confession I think I've ever heard."

Ulster couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Give me some credit, Lana. I'm trying, really."

"Oh yeah, mister second banana?" she asked, her lips quirking into a grin.

"Quiet, you," Ulster said, his cheeks burning.

"Just wait until I tell Larcei ab—"

But he cut her off with a kiss. When they finally parted, he was pleased to see her face torn between confusion and blissful reverie.

"I've got a proposal for you," Ulster said, mimicking her earlier tone. "It's true that I'll never be Sigurd. But after this is all over, I'm going to Verdane. Isaach will forever be my home, but I want to go rebuild father's nation. It's no Grannvale, but..." He took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. "Let's go together, Lana. Be my princess in Verdane."

Her face turned beet red, and for a second he didn't know whether she would laugh or cry. Finally, her expression softened, before she looked him in the eyes. "Idiot," she said, but she was smiling from ear to ear. The priestess wrapped her arms around him, pressing close. "Stupid idiot."

Ulster laughed, before gently planting a kiss on her brow. "I love you too, Lana."


	8. Genoa Again

Ulster and Lana entered Belhalla castle and approached Seliph.

"I should be going, Lord Seliph. Verdane needs me," Ulster said, bowing to Grannvale's new king.

"Of course," the young lord replied. "You are Prince Jamka's son, aren't you? As I hear it, Verdane has fallen to lawlessness and banditry since the fall of its royal family."

"Indeed, milord. I-" Ulster began, "I'm not sure how much good I can do on my own, but I owe it to my father to do everything I can. I can't simply leave things as they are."

Seliph flashed the myrmidon a grateful smile. "So very true, my friend. Verdane was my mother's home, and it's also where my parents met." He tilted his head, glancing sidelong at Ulster. "And as I hear it from Shanan, it's where Ayra and Jamka met, too. Ulster... I know it's a lot to ask, but I entrust this to you. Prince Jamka would have wanted you to save his people, I know it."

"Of course, Lord Seliph," he replied with another bow.

Lana took a step toward the myrmidon, placing her hand on his arm. "And I'll be going with you, Ulster," she said with a warm smile.

The swordsman's face darkened with concern. "You're sure, Lana? If anything happened to you..." Ulster made a pained expression, shaking his head woefully.

The priestess nodded decisively at him. "Yes, my love. I can't just sit around in Jungby, waiting for you to come back. If you leave me now, there's a chance I'll never see you again. I can't..." she glanced ruefully at Seliph, then back to her lover. "I don't want our love to end like Sigurd and Deirdre's did. Please, Ulster."

"Yes, I think you're right." The myrmidon took her hand in his, smiling reassuringly. "We'll go save Verdane together, like we promised."

As the two left Belhalla castle, Lester intercepted them. He glanced between them, his eyes creased with concern. "Lana," he spoke firmly, "Faval needs my help to rebuild Jungby. But I can't leave the two of you to take on a horde of bandits on your own."

"But Lester—" the priestess began.

"Please," the archer knight insisted. "We've completed our quest and saved Jugdral. But to sit on my laurels while my brother-in-law and sister continue to fight in Verdane? I could never." He glanced to the myrmidon beseechingly. "Ulster, will you have my bow?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "Of course, brother," he said, grasping the archer knight's hand. "We would be ever grateful for your prowess. And the sooner we free Verdane, the sooner you may return to Jungby and aid Faval in its restoration."

Leaving Belhalla behind, the three seasoned warriors began the long trek to Evans, where Verdane's liberation would begin.

* * *

Reaching the village skirting Evans, the three travelers were met by Verdane's people with curiosity which quickly grew into eager anticipation. Ulster, as the scion of their Hero Prince Jamka, heartened the people. As he marched on Evans, a small force of young Verdanian warriors rallied to his cause. The liberation of Evans, which had once seemed impossible, was now a simple matter of course.

Although the Grannvalian empire'd had little interest in Verdane as a whole, they'd left a small force occupying Evans. Of all Verdane, it was the least remote, and it was an important waypoint for trade between Nordion and Jungby. With no leadership, the imperial remnants were routed before battle could be joined, and Ulster had found his foothold into his father's homeland. Evans' people rejoiced in their liberation at his hands, and the prince's cause massed even more momentum.

The march south and east to Genoa was long, but Ulster's army was well-prepared and his cause was just. Any bandit camps they came upon had long since been abandoned, noticeable as Ulster's impending army was. Genoa castle itself was still occupied by brigands, and there the prince led his army into battle. Inspired by the Sword Saint's descendant, the army won its first real victory in the name of a united Verdane.

Ulster assigned a portion of his forces to stay and protect Genoa from roaming brigands. As the prince prepared for his army to march once more, he was met by an unexpected guest.

The paladin dismounted before bowing attentively.

"Oifey, is it really you?" the myrmidon asked, shocked.

His guest grinned slightly, eyes creased with amusement. "King Seliph was concerned about you, milord. He is unable to leave Belhalla, so he has asked me to come in his staid."

"But what about Chalphy?" Ulster asked, his thoughts whirling.

"I'm sure it will be fine in my absence. It was wrested from the empire before the rest of Grannvale, and its reconstruction is already well underway," the paladin explained.

"And Fee?" Lana chimed in curiously.

"I've left the duchess behind to look after things. Besides," he continued, "I cannot have her traveling in her condition."

"What?" the priestess asked, her face cast with concern. "Is she sick?!"

Oifey cleared his throat, stifling a chuckle. "Not at all, milady. Quite the opposite, in fact," he explained, eyes twinkling with pride. "We're expecting an heir, you see. Fee would have accompanied me, but I... I wouldn't allow it."

Ulster grinned broadly at the good news. "Congratulations, my friend. But then shouldn't you be in Chalphy for your child's birth?"

The paladin laughed roguishly at that. "She's not due for a while yet, milord. And what better way to lend expediency to your cause than for me to grant you my blade? I'll be back home to my dear Fee with time to spare, I promise."

"You really think?" Lana asked, her zircon eyes questing.

"Of course," he said adamantly. "Prince Ulster is very much the son of Jamka, after all."

The myrmidon smiled abashedly, unsure whether he could measure up to those words. "Thank you, Oifey," he finally managed.

"So," the paladin continued, "will you have my sword, Prince Ulster?"

The prince heaved a sigh, both reluctant and obliged. "Yes, Oifey. I am grateful for your aid."

"No worries, milord," the older man replied. "Truly, it is a privilege and a pleasure."

Ulster gave his newfound ally an appreciative nod. "Well then, let's get going. Fee isn't the only one waiting, after all. Verdane has needed me for some time, now."

Lana gripped his hand reassuringly. He glanced to her, and was met by her warmest smile. "Let's go, Ulster," she agreed softly.


	9. Birthright

The Verdanian prince led his unification army to victory in Marpha and, finally, Verdane. It grieved him to see the state of its rundown capital after so many stark years of turmoil. But even more than that, he was rejoiced after completing his duty to his father's homeland . And despite their long adversity, the people's spirit remained unbroken.

As the grandson of Batu and Mananan, Ulster was both Verdane's crown prince and a descendant of Od. The newly unified citizens gladly coronated him as their king, granting him rulership in the name of the late Batu.

Amidst the bustle and festivity, Ulster and Lana saw their two companions off. Supplies had already been prepared for them, and all that was left was to say goodbye.

Ulster gave them a gratified smile. "Lester, Oifey, I'm glad we made it through this together. Thank you for your help, truly. We wouldn't have managed without you."

Oifey cast an even-tempered look to the archer knight before glancing back to Ulster. "Milord... as I once said, it is a privilege and a pleasure."

Lester couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. "All in a day's work, brother," the archer knight beamed. "Take care of yourselves, alright? And make sure to come visit Jungby sometime. Maybe with a niece or nephew for me in tow."

"Shut up, Lester," Lana snapped, suddenly flustered. "Th-that's none of your business, idiot!"

The old paladin chuckled bemusedly. "To see the two of you together like this, it's very heartwarming. Back when the first war began... Jamka's brother, Munnir, abducted the Lady Edain. It was Prince Jamka himself who aided her escape from Marpha. Whatever his intentions were..." Oifey's voice grew reminiscent and far-away as he continued. "The two of you are so very much like your parents were. Though they didn't end up together, it's almost like..." He trailed off, his lips quirking into a wan smile.

Ulster glanced to his princess, gently taking her hand. He was sure that Jamka and Ayra would be pleased to see things as they were, with Verdane unified once again. Lana turned to him with a weary smile, but the felicity in her doe eyes was unmistakable. The sight made him feel that his heart might burst.

"A match made in heaven," Lester said with a smirk. "Now then... Oifey, shall we be on our way? It's high time we were back to Grannvale."

"I must be back to the duchess swiftly," the paladin agreed before gracing them with another bow. "If you'll excuse us, milord, milady." Mounting their steeds, the two knights began their trek back home, leaving the lovers to themselves.

Lana turned to him slowly, her cheeks reddening. "Ulster..."

The swordsman squeezed her hand affectionately. "Yes, love?"

"You... you make me proud, you know that?"

Ulster couldn't help but smile at her. "Lana, you aren't getting all emotional again, are you?" he teased.

"Idiot," she mused softly. "Do you... do you remember back in Thracia?" she asked, her zircon eyes glistening.

The myrmidon nodded to her. "Of course. What about it?"

"I... I'm really glad you didn't go and perish like I told you to. I don't know what I'd do without you... mister second banana." She pressed close, gripping him with all the adoration she could muster.

"Don't worry, Lana." Pressing his cheek against her coppery hair, Ulster let loose a content sigh. "I would never leave you. Let's be together forever, okay?"

"Ulster..." she lifted her eyes, and their gazes met once more.

"Yeah?"

Her words were as beautiful as a chorus of angels and sweeter than Ambrosia itself. "I love you," she whispered quietly.

The myrmidon embraced his lover with a passionate kiss. Their trials were over and done with, and they'd finally found their happy ending. Together, the two would rebuild Batu's kingdom as the heirs of Verdane.


End file.
